A Thousand Years
by Nancy Kaminski
Summary: The new millennium arrives, but Nick Knight isn't celebrating with the rest of Toronto. Why?


Here's a story to commemorate the arrive of the new millennium. My  
best wishes to everyone for a happy and prosperous new year!  
  
Permission is granted to archive this story on the FK fanfic site and  
the FTP site. Anyone else, please ask permission.  
  
My thanks to TPTB for giving us such wonderful characters to write  
about. Through them I've met wonderful people, made friends all over  
the globe, and explored the world of creative writing. It's all quite  
amazing that a television show could do this, but there you go. For  
all their faults, TPTB did a good job!  
  
The songs quoted and the title of this story come from Sting's new CD,  
"Brand New Day."  
  
The fireworks celebration mentioned is an actual Toronto event -- the  
Millennium Lights Concert and Fireworks Spectacular is scheduled to  
start at 9 pm tonight. Wish I could go!  
  
Oh, and Natalie's t-shirt? I got mine at the Museum Store. It was a big hit  
at work! g  
  
=================================================  
A Thousand Years  
By Nancy Kaminski  
(c) December 31, 1999  
=================================================  
-----------------------  
8 pm, December 29, 1999  
-----------------------  
  
"I can't believe you aren't celebrating the millennium in some way,"  
Natalie Lambert commented as she drew a sheet over the face of her  
latest customer. "Mr. Knowles wasn't murdered, incidentally. It was a  
massive infarction -- not surprising considering the state of his  
coronary arteries and the size of the turkey dinner he had just eaten.  
It was just a coincidence he died and fell down the stairs right in  
front of his rather unpleasant son-in-law. He wasn't pushed."  
  
"I'm glad to hear it," Nick Knight replied from his position by the  
wall where he had been leaning while he watched Natalie finish up the  
autopsy. "I don't like arresting someone during Christmas."  
  
"Like there's a good time to be arrested?" Natalie inquired.  
  
Nick shrugged. "He has kids. Lousy thing to do to them, taking their  
dad away. It's bad enough that they lost their grandfather."  
  
"True. And you're avoiding my question. Why won't you be celebrating  
the millennium? That's a once-in-a-lifetime sort of thing -- at least  
for most people," she amended. "And it's your first one."  
  
Nick shrugged again. "I can't get too excited about it. It's just a  
number -- there's nothing mystical or especially meaningful about it."  
  
"But still..." Nat protested.  
  
"But still what? It's not even relevant to millions of people. After  
all, it's the year 2543 for Buddhists, 1420 for Muslims, 1921 for  
Hindus, 4697 for the Chinese, 1993 for Ethiopians, and 5760 for Jews."  
  
She stared at him. "Where did that come from?"  
  
A faint smile tugged at Nick's mouth. "I read it in a magazine."  
  
"You...!" Natalie swatted him on the shoulder and chuckled, glad that  
she had made him at least smile. She shrugged out of her lab coat to  
reveal she was wearing a black t-shirt underneath that had 'MCMXCIX +  
I' on the front and 'MM' on the back. She pirouetted, then stood with  
her arms outstretched. "Well? Like my shirt?"  
  
"Very apropos. Maybe I should get one for Lacroix -- he'd appreciate  
the Roman numerals, at least, and black is definitely his color."  
  
She wrinkled her nose. "He probably still has the one from his first  
millennium celebration, along with the one that says, 'I survived the  
destruction of Pompeii and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.' "  
  
Nick snorted in amusement.  
  
She continued, "Seriously, though, I really want to know. Even if it  
is only numbers, they're the numbers we live by, and it's worth at  
least a thought, don't you think? Some sort of commemoration? I seem  
to remember you keeping an eye on the Caddy's odometer when it was  
close to turning over to 200,000 miles because you wanted to see it  
happen. This is sort of the same deal. People like to see the zeros  
roll around."  
  
Nick shook his head. "I guess it just reminds me how long it's been.  
I've seen too many numbers go by on the calendar, seen too many  
celebrations, panics, and predictions of doom. In the end it's  
meaningless. I'd rather just let it pass."  
  
Natalie crossed her arms and regarded him. "So you're going to spend  
the night alone in the loft feeling depressed?"  
  
"No," he denied quickly. "It's just another night. I'll do the usual  
stuff, that's all -- I've got a new canvas that I'm working on.  
Anyway, I'm on call in case something happens, even though I have the  
night off. Everyone in the department is, especially with all the fuss  
about those Algerians they arrested at the US border and all the  
parties in town. That puts a damper on any plans -- that is, if I had  
any, which I don't."  
  
Natalie leaned forward and tapped the pager on Nick's belt. "This is  
an amazing device, Nick. It beeps when they need you. You don't have  
to be by your phone anymore."  
  
"I know!" Nick said, an exasperated look on his face. The look turned  
to dismay. "Uh, Nat, were you wanting to spend New Year's Eve with  
me? Because, I, uh..." He floundered for words.  
  
Natalie's expression said that yes, she wouldn't have minded seeing  
the new millennium in with him, but she shook her head and patted his  
arm. "Don't worry, Nick, I wasn't fishing for an invitation. Besides,  
I'm going to be at Sarah and Amy's house, along with a horde of other  
relatives. I just worry about you, I guess. It's a dirty job," she  
added with a small smile, "but someone's gotta do it."  
  
Nick embraced her lightly. "Thanks for worrying, Natalie, but I'll be  
all right, really. I just want to let this one pass, all right? I'm  
glad you'll be with your family." He kissed her brow, then stepped  
back from her and smiled crookedly. "I'll see you next week, okay?"  
And with that he was gone.  
  
Natalie stared at the spot where he had been and sighed. At least he  
hadn't said "see you next millennium," as too many of her coworkers  
had in the last several days. That little jest was getting old fast.  
  
Nick might deny it, she thought as she went about her post-autopsy  
routine, but she was sure he would end up brooding and making himself  
miserable as only he could, and there was nothing she could do about  
it.  
  
------------------------  
11 pm, December 31, 1999  
------------------------  
  
Contrary to Natalie's expectations, Nick wasn't miserable. He had  
spent his day off pottering around his loft in various domestic  
pursuits, then working on his current painting. He had pointedly not  
turned on either television or radio in order to avoid the millennial  
hoopla going on in the outside world, and as a result had succeeded in  
not giving the event much thought at all.  
  
Now, ready to relax and enjoy his midday meal, he stocked the CD  
player with ten CDs, set them to play randomly, and settled on the  
sofa in front of the fire. He let his mind wander while he sipped and  
stared at the flames. A Mozart flute concerto played softly in the  
background.  
  
In spite of his determination not to, his thoughts turned to the  
imminent arrival of the new millennium. Who would ever have thought  
he, Nicolas de Brabant, former knight-errant of the Holy Roman See,  
would live to witness it? Certainly he hadn't -- he hadn't expected to  
live much past his fiftieth year, let alone his eight hundred and  
fifth. Idly he wondered what would have been the cause of his demise  
had he bypassed Paris and gone home. Stroke, like his father? A fever,  
like his brother? He sighed. It was a pointless speculation.  
  
He had been in Toronto seven years now -- seven years in this  
incarnation as Nicholas Knight. He was approaching that time when he  
would have to leave, unless Natalie miraculously came up with his  
cure. And in his heart of hearts, he didn't think that was going to  
happen, even though somehow he managed to keep the flame of hope alive  
within himself.  
  
Seven years, he mused. It was but a blink of the eye, and yet it was a  
lifetime. Over those years he had gradually become more comfortable  
within himself, more accepting of the idea that he wasn't evil  
incarnate, but a worthwhile person. He still hated his past, hated  
this *thing* within him, but now he could separate it from the core of  
his being. Nicolas de Brabant was still there, striving to prevail  
over the vampire -- and succeeding more often than not.  
  
He swirled the dregs in his glass thoughtfully. How had his  
perceptions changed so much, after so many hundreds of years of self-  
hatred and black despair? What was different about this life, about  
him?  
  
Natalie.  
  
She had accepted him, had not feared him, had chided him when he fell  
into self-recriminations and despair. She expected so much of him, and  
in response he found himself doing his best to live up to her  
expectations.  
  
He knew she loved him, and felt humbled.  
  
The concerto ended and the CD player quietly moved to another track. A  
strangely hypnotic rhythm pulsed out of the speakers, and then the  
song began...  
  
A thousand years, a thousand more  
A thousand times a million doors to eternity  
I may have lived a thousand lives, a thousand times  
An endless turning stairway climbs  
To a tower of souls  
If it takes another thousand years, a thousand wars,  
The towers rise to numberless floors in space  
I could shed another million tears, a million breaths,  
A million names but only one truth to face  
  
A million roads, a million fears  
A million suns, ten million years of uncertainty  
I could speak a million lies, a million songs,  
A million rights, a million wrongs in this balance of time  
But if there was a single truth, a single light  
A single thought, a singular touch of grace  
Then following this single point, this single flame,  
This single haunted memory of your face  
  
I still love you  
I still want you  
A thousand times the mysteries unfold themselves  
Like galaxies in my head  
  
I may be numberless, I may be innocent  
I may know many things, I may be ignorant  
Or I could ride with kings and conquer many lands  
Or win this world at cards and let it slip my hands  
I could be cannon food, destroyed a thousand times  
Reborn as fortune's child to judge another's crimes  
Or wear this pilgrim's cloak, or be a common thief  
I've kept this single faith, I have but one belief  
  
I still love you  
I still want you  
A thousand times these mysteries unfold themselves  
Like galaxies in my head  
On and on the mysteries unwind themselves  
Eternities still unsaid  
'Til you love me  
  
Sting's reedy tenor faded out, and the CD player moved on to a Bach  
concerto.  
  
'A singular touch of grace.' That was Natalie to him. Not an icon of  
mortality or an unattainable ideal, but a touch of grace. And if he  
had to move on without her, or wasn't able to join her in the sun, her  
essence would remain with him -- forever, vivid in his memories,  
guiding him onward.  
  
Stirring from his reverie, he glanced at his watch. Two more minutes  
before the clocks devised by man to measure and delineate life rolled  
into another millennium, into the future, into the unknowable.  
  
The flames danced and reflected in his somber gaze. In them he saw  
shadows of the figures of the past -- Janette, Lacroix, the mortals  
beyond number he had known, had loved, had killed. So many...  
  
His mood was interrupted by the sounds of distant explosions. He  
looked out the window to see fireworks drenching the skyline with  
color. Brilliant, glittering chrysanthemums and starbursts of light  
exploded in the night sky to welcome the new age. Laser lights danced  
against the high clouds and painted the sky in actinic lines of color.  
  
It was midnight.  
  
He climbed the stairs to the roof to watch. Crunching through the thin  
layer of snow to the edge of the roof, he stood in the chill breeze  
and gazed at the beautiful sight. He realized it was the city  
celebration -- fireworks were being shot off all around and from the  
top of the CN Tower and the harbourfront to greet the new year and the  
new millennium in a spectacular pyrotechnic show of joy.  
  
Smiling, he raised his glass and mutely offered a toast to the new  
year, to his adopted city, and to the future.  
  
His cellphone rang.  
  
He tossed off the rest of his glass, then fished the cellphone out of  
his back pocket. "Knight," he said, his eyes never leaving the  
fireworks.  
  
"Dispatch here," the harried voice came tinnily over the small phone.  
"It looks like the harbourfront party is getting out of hand, and we  
need all the warm bodies we have down there to keep a lid on it.  
You're to report to the command post at the south side of the Skydome  
ASAP. Wear your uniform, too -- we need a visible presence."  
  
"Okay, I'll be there in twenty minutes." He snapped the phone shut.  
Duty called. He gave the fireworks one last glance and went inside to  
change.  
  
Fifteen minutes later he was gone. The CD player was still playing  
random selections in the empty loft.  
  
Turn the clock to zero, boss  
The river's wide, we'll swim across  
We're starting up a brand new day.  
  
  
FINIS  
  
==============================================================  
All comments, criticisms, and flying policemen may be sent to:  
nancykam@mediaone.net  
==============================================================  
  
  



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